


the galaxy belongs to us (let's have some fun)

by rain_sleet_snow



Series: hide and seek [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alderaan, Bespin, Established Relationship, F/M, Gambling, New Republic, Politics, Post-Star Wars: Return of the Jedi, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-28 00:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18200963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/pseuds/rain_sleet_snow
Summary: Kyrie and Limia in Cloud City, after the war.





	the galaxy belongs to us (let's have some fun)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brynnmclean (ilfirin_estel)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilfirin_estel/gifts).



> Written for Brynn, who loves these two. Inspired by a Rey Kenobi backstory fic I wrote.

"I'm not going to insult you by checking your pockets for skifters."

 

Limia turned sharply at the sound of a familiar voice, and laughed when she saw Lando Calrissian. Baron Administrator of Cloud City once more, holding a minor but prestigious position as an adviser to the Treasury of the New Republic, and - Kyrie had told her privately - far, far richer than he had been before the war.

 

Lando wasn't a profiteer, not with Leia Organa watching him with one beady eye. But he sure as hell knew how to turn a profit. And Limia had heard rumours, these ones from the sharper political operatives of the Rebellion who had occupied Kyrie's mother's old flat during the first heady, lethal days in liberated Imperial Centre, that he might even be looking at a Senate run. Not yet. Lando liked to position himself as wise, experienced, reliable. He would work himself up into a niche nobody would ever be able to crowbar him out of.

 

Limia respected that, and she was looking forward to seeing the old money and bad actors of the Core displaced by Lando.

 

"Of course you aren't," she said, in response to his comment. "One, it would be rude. Two, Kyrie would file a formal complaint in that fancy way of his and make you apologise, which would be embarrassing. And three, you know that if we were going to cheat, we wouldn't lower ourselves to using skifters."

 

Her voice would always be harsh and carrying, and people around her looked disconcerted and gave Lando nervous looks. Lando merely laughed, and sauntered over to join her at the head of the stairs overlooking Cloud City's premier casino. It was called Narcissus, which Limia understood was a famous kind of flower from somewhere on Corellia, and which was probably some kind of sly joke - whether on the Baron or his guests, no-one would ever know.

 

"True," Lando said, "true, and I know that because you approve of my business practices, and are an honest person, that you would not cheat at my tables. Or allow that man of yours to use his -" Lando twiddled his fingers the same way he did when he was trying to make Luke Skywalker laugh about the Force - "gifts on my poor, defenceless hosts."

 

Limia grinned. "You'd never know if we did, but we promised we wouldn't."

 

"I always take a lady at her word." Lando leaned forward on the polished silvery wood of the banister, looking down into the cavernous luxury of the casino's great room. His bronze cape flowed around his arms, resplendent, and tiny bronze jewelled ornaments glittered in his tightly curled hair. "Where is Lieutenant-Colonel Theodora? Or is it Doctor, these days?"

 

"Doctor," Limia said, feeling pride fill her voice. "He's passed all the exams, the formal graduation is in a month." She pointed over to a tall table near the silver floating bar, where the relative sparseness of the crowds made it easy to pick out Kyrie. He was far from the tallest person in the room, or the most striking, but he always stood out to Limia - especially here, dressed in a finery that looked strange and strangely appropriate on a man that Limia had known in bloody scrubs and dirty uniforms. Among the delicate denizens of Lando's prized casino, he looked more solid and more real than any four of them put together, and he was keeping a glass on his table for Limia.

 

Lando let out a low, appreciative humming noise. Limia whacked him solidly in the arm. "Get your own."

 

"Men like that don't grow on trees, Flemín."

 

"Yeah. And?"

 

"The Naboo know how to dress," Lando said, eyeing Kyrie shamelessly. They were some distanceaway, but not so far that they didn't have a good view of Kyrie's handsome profile, the dark hair pulled back and held by a plain gold band around the knot, his broad shoulders in a closely tailored jacket embroidered with wild spirals of blue, gold, white and black. The trousers were probably not as tight as Lando would have liked, but as Kyrie shifted Limia glimpsed the flat line of a muscled thigh pressing against the fabric.

 

She scraped her teeth thoughtfully over her lower lip, eyes fixed on Kyrie, and heard Lando laugh at her. She flipped him off, wordlessly, and didn't let her cheeks heat.

 

"I thought Nubian men kept their hair short."

 

And Alderaanian women keep theirs long, Limia thought, and refrained with the ease of long practice from running a self-conscious hand over her inch-short hair. "Kyrie's has been long for a while. I think it's habit now. He keeps it shoulder-length." She thought for a split second, then let herself smirk. "I like it that way."

 

"Easier to keep it long under a surgical cap than a fighter helmet," Lando said casually.

 

"Yeah," Limia said. The mountain amber her father had given her was warm against her collarbones, and the mountain amber Kyrie had tracked down for her last birthday swung cool against her neck, light from her earlobes. She wondered if Lando knew what it was. If he didn't know that there had been parts of Alderaan where short or shaven hair meant wordless grief, he probably had no idea.

 

There was a pause. Limia supposed her drink far below might be getting warm, but the casino itself was fairly cool.

 

"So why aren't you down there showing off?" Lando gave her a sideways look. "You're looking just as ravishing. If I may say so."

 

Limia gave him an ironic glance, but no response. She'd never thought of herself as good-looking in the way Kyrie unselfconsciously knew himself to be, and the closest she got to dressing up had been cliffside flowers or dress uniform. Princess Leia dressed to be an Alderaanian and a rebel with a deliberateness so practised it was second nature; Kyrie had an entire colour language and opinions about fabric. Limia reached for the closest pair of trousers and the cleanest pair of socks.

 

Kyrie had chosen her outfit. And had not let her see the price. Limia was deliberately not thinking about it; there was no way hazel shot silk with green and gold running through it came at a reasonable cost, especially when tailored to fit so she looked taller and slimmer and more elegant than she ever had done before. The sharply cut sleeveless jumpsuit and the cloak falling from neat points on her shoulders referenced the Alderaanian designs she had tentatively picked out, the pockets could probably take a hold-out blaster and knife without anyone noticing, the mountain range silhouette embroidered onto the broad hem of the cloak was taken from pictures of the vanished Llóna range of her childhood, it was comfortable, she felt good in it, she'd looked in the mirror and felt like the equal of anyone on this precious planet, and still...

 

"You've got to get used to having a trophy spouse, Limia."

 

Limia choked on air. "The fuck?"

 

Lando gestured airily at the ballroom. "You know. Rich. Well-born. Decorative. Adoring. PR-perfect career. If you want to go into politics you couldn't ask for a better helpmeet."

 

"That's Princess Leia's department. At least I can yell at my idiots."

 

"Don't let her fool you. She yells at her idiots too."

 

Limia shrugged. She'd never thought about actually going into politics, however many arguments she had with people who had bad opinions and vested interests, and didn’t mean to think about it now. "I'm on holiday, Lando."

 

"Think about it," Lando invited. "You never know who you might want to campaign with one day."

 

"You have it all planned out," Limia accused.

 

Lando's smile broadened. "I see the big picture."

 

A droid appeared and called him discreetly away; he apologised but Limia only nodded at him distractedly. She stared down at Kyrie, who looked up at her finally and smiled with a brightness she knew at once for relief. He was talking to a member of species Limia didn't recognise for several moments - long-necked, with very large oval eyes and a disproportionately small skull, slate-silver skin toning with the decor and the pearl white of their trailing dress - but knew to be standing significantly too close to Kyrie for his immediate peace of mind. The person turned their head to show their flat, tilted profile, and it clicked in Limia's mind: Kaminoan.

 

Oh, shit. Kaminoans, famously, were cloners. Leia had spent an hour last month blowing off steam about their petition to reopen the Senate seat they had bribed their way into during the Clone Wars. Kyrie had _opinions_ about people who manipulated others' genetic material for self-serving ends, and neither of them had any truck with slavers.

 

Limia raised a hand and smiled back, then took a deep breath and walked down the floating stairs to meet him. He kissed her with a joy that would have reconciled her to the end of the world, and introduced her to the Kaminoan so dismissively the Kaminoan went off in a huff, which had very clearly been Kyrie's intended goal.

 

Limia took her glass from the table and clinked it lightly with his. "Doctor Theodora."

 

Kyrie flushed with delight. Limia's heart shone in her chest.

 

She pulled a deck of cards from her pocket - a deck they only ever used to play with each other - and tapped it on the table. "Fancy a game just the two of us? A warm-up."

 

Kyrie smirked. "Any time."

 

 

 

It was some way into the next afternoon before they woke up. Lando had complained in the course of the morning, but it was a very elegant complaint, delivered in indigo-dark ink on pressed paper with his personal monogram.

 

 _You_ _broke_ _the_ _kriffing_ _bank_ , _you_ _pair_ _of_ _menaces_ , _and_ _nobody_ _can_ _prove_ _you_ _were_ _fucking_ _cheating_!

 

Kyrie looked around for a pen, found one on the antique writing desk, and wrote _We_ _weren't_ _even_ _counting_ _cards_. _Try_ _harder_ _next_ _time_ on the reverse of the card. He added a flourishing _Regards_ and every title either of them had any claim to, and Limia flopped onto her back on the bed, laughing.

 

"Ten percent to a children's charity in Corellia and he'll forgive us," she said idly. The sun touched Cloud City softly, and the paleness of the light reminded her of a home long turned to dust.

 

"Ten percent to one on Bespin, too," Kyrie suggested, handing the note to a protocol droid with a tip and his compliments.

 

"And maybe a little something for Lando's Senate campaign fund," Limia said, staring at the ceiling.

 

"Oh," Kyrie said, clearly amused. "Is that where this is going?"

 

"Maybe. Who knows?"

 

Kyrie came back to bed, and leaned over her to kiss her. She surged upwards, and rolled them both until Kyrie was flat on his back underneath her, laughing.

 

"We're young, we're brave, and the galaxy belongs to us," she said, and kissed his throat as his head tipped back. "Let's have some fun."

 


End file.
